Chapter Twenty

T HE NOISE OF the crowd swelled in the courtyard. Chev pushed down the cap resting low on his head, and glanced urgently to Emmaus, still engaged in animated conversation with Ithwick's most loyal tenant, who'd heard Emmaus was to leave, following a competition for Penelope's hand.

Chev ran his fingers over the cobalt bead fastened to the special string hidden in his pocket. Still there.

As planned, the competition had begun without him. But they were due inside. Now.

Readiness surged within his body.

"Patience," Emmaus said. "Do not make a decision of this magnitude in haste."

"Even if there are no other farms to let in the whole of the county," the renter argued, "I will not renew my lease."

"Has Ithwick sunk so low?" Cheverley interrupted.

"Ithwick was never an easy place, but now it's run by unscrupulous men. I cannot in good conscience continue to fill their coffers with my rent."

Emmaus and Cheverley exchanged a glance.

"Listen to Emmaus," Cheverley said.

The renter shifted his position and gazed at Chev in surprise, as if he only just noticed him. His eyes settled on Cheverley's missing hand and then slowly returned to Cheverley's face.

The renter squinted as he studied.

"Lord Cheverley!" The renter paled. "Are you ghost or man?"

"Quiet! I beg you." Chev gripped the man's shoulder. "I am very much a man."

"How can I be sure it is you?" the renter asked.

"You cannot," Chev replied. "When I am duke, Ithwick will have stewardship akin to Pensteague, not greedy abuse of the land. Ithwick and Pensteague will again be one. Her ladyship will guide the transition."

"Lady Cheverley shows excellent judgement," the renter said.

Chev agreed, although he wasn't sure he would have given himself the same second chance as she had given him.

"Well, let us go in then," the renter exclaimed. "What are you waiting for?"

Emmaus snorted.

Cheverley opened the gate and, together, the three of them headed into the courtyard.

All the residents of Ithwick and Pensteague combined lined the courtyard's walls. Cheverley made his way through the crowd, listening to Thaddeus speak.

"Both you and Thomas have failed to even string the bow," Thaddeus said. "If I shoot the arrow through all twelve axes, you will you swear to leave my mother and my land alone?"

"As it is an impossibility, I give you my word," Anthony replied.

Thaddeus stepped through the bow, just as Cheverley had shown him the very first day he returned. He could have easily finished stringing the bow, but he looked up, scanned the crowd and caught Cheverley's eye.

Cheverley shook his head no.

Thaddeus made an exaggerated attempt and then hung his head.

Anthony chuckled. "Looks like you have failed as well."

Keeping his head down, Cheverley stepped out from the hedge. "May I attempt the feat?"

"Why it's the captain-turned beggar!" One of Anthony's coterie exclaimed. "And he's gone to great lengths to clean himself up."

"Insolence!" Anthony cried. He stalked toward Cheverley. "You should not be allowed to set foot on this land, you aren't fit to look on Penelope, let alone compete for her hand."

"Cousin," Pen scolded, "what harm is there in letting him try?"

"Would you wed this beggar?" Anthony asked.

"I don't need to," Penelope replied, because, of course, they were already wed. "He just wants to take a chance at stringing and shooting the bow."

Penelope met Chev's gaze. Her inner smile may not have been visible to anyone else, but it sank in ever-tightening spirals straight into his heart.

"Wouldn't that be beautiful?" Thomas said. "Him winning where we have failed."

"We'd be shamed," Anthony replied.

"Shamed?" Chev queried. "You've wasted another's riches. You've disrespected the duke, his heir, and the women of this house."

Emmaus locked the gate.

"I do not have to listen to this." Anthony turned toward the house.

Thaddeus blocked Anthony's path.

"For all this and more," Chev took off his cap and lifted his face, "you are already shamed."

Anthony froze, jaw slacked.

"Hand me the bow, son."

Thaddeus handed over the bow. Cheverly attached his string to the bottom, and then, stepping through the bow the way he'd shown Thaddeus, he fastened the string to the top.

He nocked his arrow, and he aimed.

A small spot of Ithwick's grey stone was visible through the handle holes.

Around him the sounds of the crowd rushed like the winds over the ocean.

The leather mouthpiece tasted of dwindling hung beef.

His neck swelled as he pulled back.

One shot.

One shot that would raft him back to the great yew bed.

He would bury his face in softness of Penelope's hair and relish her touch.

One shot—not to pierce the pirate's putrid heart but reunite him with his life.

He released the arrow. The slender piece of wood sailed through the holes in all twelve axes, before lodging in the door to Ithwick Manor.

"Cheverley," Anthony whispered.

Chev met Anthony's gaze, bow drawn, a second arrow already knocked and aimed.

"Cheverley—if you are Cheverley—what are you going to do? Kill me in front of all these witnesses? Reclaim your home with violence and bloodshed?"

Slowly, Chev released the pressure in the string. He grasped bow and arrow in his left hand and spit out the mouthpiece.

"I don't need violence," Cheverley said. "I have the law."

The second lieutenant—now in charge of Sir Jerold's militia—stepped forward. "You had better come with me, Mr. Anthony. By order of the crown."

"On what charge?"

"Smuggling." The lieutenant indicated the pile of gifts that Anthony had presented Penelope. "These match those found in the village, marked by the privateer's brand. And last night, an escaped French prisoner was recaptured on Ithwick land."

Two militia men came forward, each taking one of Anthony's arms.

"How can we be sure this is Lord Cheverley?" Anthony struggled in their grasp. "What if he and Lady Cheverley have conspired to claim the duchy?"

"May I speak?" Penelope's voice quieted the crowd. "Men from the Admiralty, as well as my husband's oldest friends, will vouch for Lord Cheverley. I am certain this man is my husband. But I have no problem waiting for a court's decree to live as husband and wife. However," she paused, "he should not sleep in the game keeper's cottage. If you would, Mrs. Renton, have a few sturdy men bring Lord Cheverley's yew bed to Ithwick."

"My bed!" Chev flushed. "Impossible! No one could move that bed! We crafted that bed together from the ancient yew. The bed is part of our home's very foundation. How could you—"

He stopped speaking.

"Of course it cannot be moved," she said. Then louder. "Does anyone still doubt this is Lord Cheverley?"

The crowd's murmur ceased. Women curtsied. Men took off their hats.

Chev strode to his wife's side.

"Extraordinary woman," he said.

"Extraordinary man," she replied.

The door to Ithwick's conservatory opened and the duke, assisted by Thaddeus, stepped out.

"At last," the duke said roughly. "My son is home." He grasped Cheverley's hand. "You will make a fine duke." He joined Cheverley's hand with Penelope's. "And she will make a fine duchess."

~~~

Cheverley gazed down at his missing fingers in the mirror in his very own bedchamber—fingers still curiously fisted. He stood to the side, moved his arm.

Penelope moved behind him, with looking glass in hand. In the double reflection, his left hand appeared as his right. Intentionally he fisted his fingers. Then, he relaxed.

To his astonishment, the fingers-that-were-not-there, also went limp.

"St. George!" he whispered the exclamation.

"He's the saint who killed the dragon," Penelope said.

"Yes," he turned to her, "St. George killed the dragon."

"And Michael the archangel, too," she added. "Though you never believed me when I told you."

Slowly, he turned. "Michael the archangel did kill a dragon. The night I washed up on shore I remembered. I remembered you were right."

"Pardon?" Her brow furrowed.

He wiped away the crease with his thumb. "I swear it won't take so much for me to listen."

He gathered her into an embrace—so warm, so very right.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"I cannot decide if I should kiss you or tell you to rest."

"When in doubt," she glanced up through her lashes, "always go with the kissing."

She yelped when he lifted her from the floor. She wound her arms around his neck as he carried her over to the bed. He knelt on the mattress with one knee and gently laid her down.

"You," she said, "are the embodiment of words I've never understood."

"What words?" he asked.

"Home." She arched up and kissed his right cheek and then his left. "And quite definitely love."

He brushed his lips over hers. "Make circles on my spine."

She blinked. "Do I do that?"

"Yes." He nodded. "No matter how long we were apart, I never forgot your touch."

She danced her fingers softly down his spine. "And I never forgot your scent."

"You didn't, did you?" He closed his eyes as her fingers swirled. "That night at fairy rocks you told me I smelled like me."

"No," she said, "I told the captain he smelled like you."

Chev lifted the side of his lip in a lopsided, devilish smile. "Cavorting with the Captain was very naughty of you."

"It was, wasn't it?" she wrinkled her little upturned nose.

He nodded, made a disapproving face and tsked.

"You're irresistible." She shrugged against the pillows. "What can I say?"

He locked her in a kiss and rolled them both, so that he was on his back and she was draped across his chest.

He stilled the tremor in his heart by keeping his gaze locked inside of hers.

No hunger for dominion lingered in the depths of her eyes. Only wonder. And love. And tenderness.

Infinite tenderness.

She shifted her weight and her breasts brushed against his chest. She traced the arch of his brow, his cheek bones, his nose.

Desire pooled in his groin.

"Take off your shift," he said.

She rose to her knees drew the white linen over her head.

He undid his falls and lifted out his manhood. Stroking it as she stared until he was fully hard.

"Straddle me."

Shyly, she cast one leg over his body. He grasped her hip and guided her into place. Slowly, she lowered her body over his.

He groaned from the deepest place inside, delighting in her little gasp.

There was nothing harsh or groping in the way they came together—nothing of performance. Just wedded coupling—inelegant, a measure nervous, a measure more embarrassed...but a fully wet, hot joining of man and wife.

Of future duke and future duchess.

He pulled her down against his chest. Her folded thighs gripped his sides.

"I have you," he whispered into her ear. "I won't let you go."

She buried her face into his neck and he inhaled the scent of her hair. He rocked upward until the sensations sent him spinning and he only vaguely heard her satiated cry.

~~~

Penelope grasped her husband's injured arm as they walked together through the coppiced wood that evening.

"What star is that?" he asked.

Of course, he knew the North Star.

"That," she replied, "is the star that guided you home."

He smiled down into her eyes and something inside unraveled. Something long and thin that she'd started to spool up tight the night he'd left.

She cut out this moment and set it apart in her mind.

Happiness was not a state, or an ever-after.

Happiness was a quilt.

Or a constellation...with moments like jewels. Like stars.

A sapphire evening. A Carnelian sunset. Emerald spring.

The brilliant white diamond euphoria—rare, like that rocking carriage ride to Scotland. Like the moment he'd shot that arrow through those axes, forever pinning himself to her heart.

"Tell me," she asked, "do you still have an insatiable thirst for adventure?"

"I've had enough adventure for a lifetime, but I have an insatiable thirst for you."

"You've experienced so much."

"We've a lifetime to exchange stories. And," he paused, "all that matters is you know my heart."

His face was now shadowed by dusk.

There would be time for healing.

Time for passion.

Time to teach one another again.

He was a constellation—bright points, and vast spaces of unknown. An imagined shape, sometimes barely recognizable, but shining in the darkest night.

"I know your heart," she agreed. "And I finally know who you are."

"Who is that?" he asked.

"You are brave and strong and caring. And loyal and wise and good." She held his cheeks and stood on the tips of her toes to kiss him. "And for all that and more, you are my hero."